It's been 10 years since I was diagnosed with Head and Neck Squamous Cell Carcinoma... cancer. I started this blog to share the many emotions, fears, experiences and, hopefully, triumphs that I will face throughout this journey. I have two goals for this blog, 1. To gain some degree of personal therapeutic benefit and, 2. To help others who may one day face a similar struggle by detailing the process of diagnosis, treatment and recovery so that they may know what to expect.

Friday, July 14, 2006

PET Scan

July 3, 2006 - We ended our fourth of July plans at the beach early to get back for my PET Scan. It was originally supposed to be done on 7/5 but as luck would have it, I was able to get it moved up a couple of days. For anyone who doesn't know what a PET (Positron Emission Tomogrophy) scan is, here is the Wiki definition - PET Scan.

As soon as I walked into the office I felt terribly out of place. The waiting area was small and there were a number of other patients there. Every one of them was elderly. But what was really remarkable about these people was the look of utter defeat that they all shared. I felt sorry for them and scared for myself. These people looked like living, breathing ghosts. They had no spirit. Their skin was sallow, as though they had exhausted their last drop of blood long ago. Their eyes were distant and empty. It truly looked as though these people were waiting to die. Was this my fate?

When my name was finally called, I was escorted to a small room with a comfortable reclining chair. A nurse asked some questions to make sure I did as I was instructed prior to arrival - drink plently of water, no food for at least 6 hours, no exercise in the last 36 hours, and no metal on my clothing. When she was sufficiently convinced that I had obeyed these instructions, she inserted an IV line into my arm. The nurse then opened a lead briefcase that contained a lead vial encased in form fitting foam. It looked like something out of a movie. She removed the vial and attached it to the IV line to administer a clear liquid.

The way PET scans work is actually pretty cool. The clear liquid is radioactive sugar and the test is based on two principles: 1. Cancer cells divide much more rapidly than normal cells and thus are considered to be hypermetabolic and, 2. Cancer is a sugar feeder. It derives energy anaerobically by burning sugar. So, the PET machine looks for these radioactive sugar molecules in the body. The highest concentration of these molecules will occur in areas of hypermetabolic activity, i.e., tumors, which will show up on the PET scan as bright yellow and white spots like a sunburst in an otherwise dark sky.

After the liquid was administered, the nurse reclined my chair, dimmed the lights and told me to relax. I could not get up and move for approximately 45-50 minutes. This quiet time was actually very nice and I imagine many people fall asleep but I used this time to practice breathing and mantra. It is important to focus on breathing deeply from the diaphram and exhaling slowly. Not only does this serve to calm and reduce stress, it helps to properly oxygenate our healthy cells and protect them from the cancer cells which, remember, are anaerobic. While breathing in deeply and exhaling slowly, I would repeat two thoughts: 1. "Defense cells, seek and destroy the cancer cells," and, 2. "I will beat cancer." I try to couple this with visualization techniques such as imagining the cancer cells being destroyed by one of those laser-guided missiles with the camera on it like we saw on CNN during the first gulf war.

After about an hour, someone came to retrieve me and let me use the bathroom. I was then shown to the PET scan machine and, much like the CT scan, was instructed to lay on a table that retracted into the machine. Like the CT scan, I had to remain perfectly still. Unline the CT scan, I had to lay perfectly still for a full 27 minutes (17 minutes for one scan and 10 minutes for a second one.) Again, I practiced breathing, mantra and visualization to keep my mind off of having to stay still.

Finally, the test was complete and I was free to leave. As I entered the waiting area once again, I saw that I was now the only one there and that the office had actually closed. I had been there for a total of 2.5 hours. One nice thing is that they give you a goody bag once you're done with a cookie and some crackers. Having not eaten anything for the past 18 hours, that was the best damned cookie and crackers I've ever had!

Now, the agony of waiting again. This time to know exactly how far this had spread throughout my body, if at all.

4 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

my dad is fighting cancer too. i pray that you're doing better now. god bless :)

4:57 PM

 
Anonymous Anonymous said...

On monday march,2nd i go for my pet scan needless to say i am terrifyed but after reading your letter i feel a little more assured thanx to your relaxation technics. I to will win this battle there is way to much fight left inme at 58 to be defeated now by something called Cancer.Hope your test results were all negative i'll be back with mine on the 20th after i meet with my lung specialist. God bless us all...GO FIGHT WIN

3:21 PM

 
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thank for the information, it is very helpful. I go for mine on Monday 5/23/11

10:23 AM

 
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Glad I saw your site! After defeating Cervical Cancer in 91, now I have breast cancer (invasive ductal in situ). Bummer, but I'll kick this alien in the butt again.
Doing an MRI on 4/9...first one ever & terrified. The MRI last week wasn't too bad, 'cept I had to suspend my boobs between 2 metal bars. OUCH!

11:40 PM

 

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